


Freaks Here

by endofthyme



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grudging Respect, grammar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:37:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofthyme/pseuds/endofthyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sally realizes that an apostrophe makes all the difference. Sherlock can hear punctuation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freaks Here

**Author's Note:**

> This was first written and published on FFN in November 2010. Inspired by reading at least one fanfic where Donovan's "Freak's here" lacked the apostrophe, and by a belief held by myself and a few of my friends that punctuation is something which can be heard. :P

Somewhere along the line, Sergeant Sally Donovan's catchphrase on the trickier cases had changed from "Freak's here" to "Freaks here."

She didn't know exactly when she had stopped adding that vital apostrophe, but she knew that she had been doing so subconsciously for some time. And she knew exactly when she had first realized it.

It happened just moments after Sherlock Holmes arrived in a dramatic flurry of coat and scarf to yet another cordoned-off crime scene, his 'colleague' John Watson in tow. She saw the taxi drive up, and watched impassively as the two jumped out, the consulting detective striding towards her like he owned the place, leaving the ex-soldier to pay the fare. She held the man's gaze steady, and informed anyone who might care to listen that the freaks had arrived.

Her thoughts ground to a halt - the great detective would laugh at that and say there wasn't any difference, wouldn't he, the arrogant sod - and then she ran over her previous statement again. Freaks here. Not freak's here. Holmes and Watson had become a collective entity. A plurality.

Sally turned her head, looking at the other officers milling about and waiting to be regaled with the story of why it was actually the butler's cousin's sister-in-law. None of them were reacting any differently to her words. None of them could hear what she had meant underneath what she had said. She couldn't blame them, it did sound the same after all, but she still felt a flare of irritation. She wanted someone to know. No one would really care, she was well aware of that, and it was a stupid thought, anyways. But it was hers.

Her focus went back to the taller of the freaks. He was scrutinizing her, making no move to duck under the tape. She supposed he was deducing whether Anderson's wife was in town or not. Well, he would come to the wrong conclusion; she was out of town, but Sally and Anderson had agreed to stop seeing each other outside of a professional setting. The freak would have to find a different way to impress and entertain his other half than bare their personal business to the world. She glanced over Sherlock's shoulder at the other freak, who was walking up to them purposefully, but looked back at the detective just as a smug, lopsided smirk stretched itself across his face.

Sally's brows furrowed, and her mouth opened to loose as venomous a question as she could make 'What is it?' into, when John Watson cut in with a curious "We haven't even seen the bodies yet. What are you smiling about?" That proved it, in her mind. Only a true freak could make idle chatter like that. Normal people didn't think of dead bodies as reasons to smile.

Sherlock lifted the tape, beckoning John underneath and then following him in. "Two things, John," he responded, briskly, setting off towards the uninhabited apartment building that now housed three corpses. The doctor was just a step behind him, and Sally trailed along after, wanting to hear what he said, though dreading it. One had to be the fact that Anderson and she had split up. She didn't know why she'd even considered for a moment that he would miss that. But, two... What was the second thing?

The line of three came to a halt as a scowling figure stepped out of the door to block their entry. "Ah, Anderson. Domestic trouble, I see," the consulting detective observed, as casually as a predator stalking through the undergrowth towards a little, furry woodland creature. Sally bristled at his words, but before she could say anything, he interrupted smoothly, without looking away from Anderson, "Not referring to you, Sally, though I do approve of your cutting off ties with him. Perhaps I should have said... marital trouble."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man snarled, though Sally could see he clearly understood the implication.

"While I admit that's normally the case, it is not this time. Now, I'm sure you would much rather step aside and let us in than let me explain exactly how I've come to the conclusion that your wife is divorcing you." Sherlock raised an eyebrow expectantly.

The pause that followed was tense, but the consulting detective seemed perfectly unaffected, as though he didn't know that most of the police on the scene were expecting this to come to blows. Sally was almost disappointed when Anderson finally did step aside. A pending divorce between Anderson and his wife hadn't even been mentioned to her. Still, it wasn't really her business anymore. She let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and followed the freaks in, pretending to be busy with something at the other end of the entrance room. "Was that the two things, then?" John asked Sherlock, as he pulled on one of those ridiculously blue suits.

"One of them. I didn't know about the divorce until I looked at Anderson's shoes." He paused to soak in the surprised silence. "That, and he wasn't wearing his wedding ring." He sounded amused, and Sally was left wondering if he actually saw it in the shoes or if he was just screwing with their heads.

John pulled up the zipper on the front of the suit. He glanced towards the stairs, then down the hall at Sally. "Third floor," she said, as helpfully as she could manage. He thanked her with a good-natured smile, as Sherlock started bounding up the steps.

"So what was the other thing?" John inquired, as he started up the stairs at a more measured pace than his companion.

Sally moved to the foot of the stairs. She wondered if she could get away with following them up, even though she didn't really have a reason to be up there. It turned out that she didn't have to follow. Sherlock stopped at the top of the flight of stairs, turning back to face them. He looked straight at her and said, "Apostrophes _do_ make quite a difference, don't they?" And then, he was off, leaving behind a confused doctor and a shocked police officer.

Though, she probably shouldn't be that shocked. He could see what no one else could. So it should come as no surprise that he could hear what no one else could, too. Perhaps he'd heard it in her tone or seen it in her expression or some combination of the two.

If she was honest with herself, she was glad he'd read that particular thought of hers. She was glad someone knew that a change to her perception had taken place. That she no longer saw Sherlock as bored, lonely psychopath. That she knew Sherlock's 'colleague' was here to stay, regardless of anyone's warnings to the contrary.

She turned on her heel and walked outside, taking up a position on the perimeter again.

She could leave these murders in the hands of the freaks.


End file.
